


There’s a New Game We Like to Play

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, New Jersey Devils, New York Rangers, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-27
Updated: 2009-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Anyone ever told you you look good in a skirt?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	There’s a New Game We Like to Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badalice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badalice/gifts).



> The OP asked for [_Martin Brodeur/Sean Avery, D/s, women's clothing. Don't really care who tops. All I ask is it be pornographic_](http://stickhandling.livejournal.com/565444.html?thread=10570948#t10570948). Title is from “Master and Servant,” by Depeche Mode. Hurr hurr.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

“Come out. Let me look at you.”

Sean wobbles out of the bathroom on a pair of heels-- whose idea had _those_ been? Brodeur’s, probably-- and flattens the ruffled pleats of the skirt he somehow let himself get talked into over his thighs. The skirt is just the slightest bit too short, and Sean’s thighs are just the slightest bit too big and athletic, and, fuck, how did he let himself get talked into this?

“Nice. Now turn around.”

Sean bristles and opens his mouth to protest, but Brodeur silences him with a wave of his hand. Sean does as he’s asked and turns, peering back over his shoulder. Brodeur looks pleased at the sight, and he leans forward, flicking a finger at one of the pleats.

“Of course you would pick out the Catholic schoolgirl ensemble,” Brodeur says, laughing, sounding amused. He sits back and rests a hand in his lap, nodding briefly to Sean. “I want you to model it for me. Go on.”

Sean scowls but does as he’s asked. He’s never done anything like this before. Never with any of his ex-girlfriends, and definitely not with any of the random guys he’s fucked over the years. Then again, Brodeur isn’t like anyone he’s ever fucked before.

Sean feels Brodeur’s hand on his thigh, pressing and squeezing. The guy sure seems to have a weird _thing_ for Sean’s thighs. He could barely keep his hands off them before the skirt, and nothing’s changed now that Sean’s put it on. Brodeur slides his hand up under the skirt, over Sean’s ass. Sean hears the ice cubes clink in the glass of brandy in Brodeur’s other hand.

“Anyone ever told you you look good in a skirt?” Brodeur is laughing softly at Sean’s ear now, and Sean knows he’s just trying to get under his skin. “You design that yourself?”

Sean grunts, unamused. “Real cute.”

Brodeur sets his glass down on the coffee table and stands, sliding his hands over Sean’s elbows. “Turn around.” He presses down lightly on Sean’s elbows when he doesn’t immediately respond, and Sean does what he asked. “You’re almost as tall as me in those shoes.” The smirk he flashes at Sean has a slight edge to it.

“You’re just full of one-liners tonight, eh?”

Brodeur slips into an easy smile. “I’ll be here all week.” He ducks his head and for a second, Sean thinks he might kiss him and he freezes up, but Brodeur doesn’t. He rubs his nose lightly against Sean’s jawline and sniffs. “Did you put on perfume?”

“It was all over the shirt when I got it,” Sean grumbles, seething.

“I’m sure.” Brodeur steps back. “Go to the kitchen. I’ll be right in.”

“But-- ”

“Don’t question. Just go.” Brodeur gives him a _look_ , eyebrows raised, and points to the door leading to the kitchen.

Sean sighs and throws up his hands, and heads for the kitchen. He could put up a bigger fight, or put up any fight at _all_. He knows he could beat Brodeur in hand-to-hand combat. He might have the height and the weight-- _definitely_ the weight-- advantage, but he’s not the fighter Sean is.

He doesn’t.

Sean wanders into the kitchen, the heels clicking against the hardwood floor. A table decorated in a noxious flower arrangement sits in the middle of the kitchen, littered with children’s schoolwork. Sean pushes the papers off the table.

Brodeur coughs lightly from the doorway, and Sean looks up.

“Don’t toss my children’s homework about like that. Pick it up and put it on the counter,” Brodeur says, tone deceptively gentle and calm.

“Sorry.” Sean bends over-- as best he can in a pleated miniskirt and high heels-- and starts to gather up the papers. He stacks them in a neat pile on the counter and then turns to look at Brodeur.

Brodeur pushes away from the doorframe and saunters into the kitchen-- Sean’s so not fucking surprised Brodeur _saunters_ \-- with a smug little smirk on his face. He walks over to the kitchen table and picks up the flower arrangement, moving it to the counter. Sean watches him, curious.

“Bend over the table.”

“But I thought-- ”

“You thought wrong. Bend over.” Brodeur taps his palm against the table.

Sean swallows his words in an angry huff, but does as Brodeur says. The lacquered wood surface is cool and smooth against his cheek, smells like Pine Sol or something. Sean wrinkles his nose in distaste. The table is almost too tall for him, and the stupid high heels-- Brodeur’s idea, of course-- make his hamstrings ache and strain. The buttons of the shirt dig into his chest.

He feels Brodeur step up behind him and flip the skirt up, over his back. Brodeur runs an appreciative hand down Sean’s back, and over the curve of his ass. He drops a couple items on table by Sean’s head; he makes out **K-Y** on one of the labels.

“You want me to fuck you?” Brodeur asks, still so maddeningly calm.

Sean mumbles a weak “Yeah” into the tabletop.

“What was that? Speak up. I couldn’t hear you,” Brodeur insists.

Sean raises his head. “Yeah. I do.”

“You don’t sound like you want it badly enough,” Brodeur tsks, picking up the lube and condoms he’d dropped onto the table. He pockets them. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Sean grumbles.

“I’m still not convinced.” Brodeur crosses his arms over his chest, appearing every bit as imperious as he does on the ice. “Do you want me to pick up your dry cleaning or do you want me to _fuck_ you? Try again.”

Sean sighs and swallows his pride. “Please fuck me. I-- need it.”

“How badly do you need it?” Brodeur prompts.

“So fuckin’ bad,” Sean says. “I need you to give it to me.”

“Why?” Brodeur’s voice curls up the back of his neck. Sean feels his large hand come to rest on his shoulder blade.

“I’ve been bad.”

“How bad?” Brodeur’s fingers slide into Sean’s hair, and his breath is warm on the shell of his ear.

It’s coming easily now, _too_ easily. Sean kind of hates that he doesn’t care anymore. “Really bad. I need you to punish me.”

“That’s what I thought.” Brodeur slips his hand out of Sean’s hair and he hears the rustle of clothing, as Brodeur undoes his pants. He drops them to the floor with a soft whisper of fabric and a jingle of keys.

Sean watches, face still pressed against the tabletop, as Brodeur plucks up the tube of K-Y and pops the cap off. It makes a squishy sound as he squeezes a dollop into his hand, and he rubs it onto his fingers.

“It may be a little cold,” Brodeur says, pressing his warm palm against the small of Sean’s back.

Brodeur presses a cold, wet finger into Sean and even though he’s expecting it, it still takes Sean a bit to adjust. Brodeur adds a second finger and slowly begins to fuck them in and out, other hand still pressing down on the small of his back. Sean digs his teeth into his bottom lip and concentrates on loosening up.

“You’re so tight. Wasn’t expecting that from somebody like you,” Brodeur says, chuckling. “Figured you’d have been around the block.”

“Doesn’t happen as much as you’d think,” Sean grunts.

“Not sure I believe that.” Brodeur gives a particularly firm thrust, fingers angled, and Sean grabs onto the edge of the table. Sean can practically hear the smirk on Brodeur’s voice. “You like that?”

Sean breathes in deeply. “Fuck. Maybe you should give a guy a warning next time,” he says on an exhale.

Brodeur withdraws his hand and leans over Sean to grab a sheet of Kleenex from a box on the counter. “That’s not the kind of game we’re playing,” Brodeur reminds him.

Sean props his chin on the table. “Right. Of course. How silly of me.”

Sean can hear the crinkling of plastic as Brodeur rips open a condom wrapper and gets one out. He rolls it on and grabs the lube again, squeezing some into his hand and rubbing it onto his dick. Brodeur puts his hand on Sean’s back again, smearing lube on the bottom of his shirt.

He feels Brodeur position himself behind him, and Sean waits for it.

Brodeur enters him with a quick snap of his hips, moving his hand to squeeze Sean’s shoulder. Sean digs his fingers into the edge of the table and bites his lip hard. Brodeur just laughs over him, holding himself very still.

Sean takes another deep breath and waits for Brodeur to get on with it.

Brodeur strokes his unoccupied hand down Sean’s back, to the waistband of the skirt. “Wish I had a camera right now,” he muses.

“That wasn’t part of it,” Sean grunts.

Brodeur thrusts his hips forward agonizingly slowly. “Maybe next time.”

Sean groans a long, drawn-out “ _Fuck_ ,” between his teeth.

“ _C’est vrai_ ,” Brodeur murmurs. He slides a hand down to Sean’s hip and digs his fingers in, starts to fuck him in hard, earnest strokes.

Sean grunts and groans with every thrust, and the edge of the table digs into his stomach. He’ll probably have a funny-looking bruise to show off tomorrow, hopes to God that he does. Sean wraps a hand around his dick and starts to jerk himself off.

“You’ve grown awfully quiet,” Brodeur points out, stilling.

“Sorry. Little preoccupied here,” Sean sighs.

Brodeur grinds to a complete stop and places his palms on the table, on either side of Sean’s head. He leans down over Sean and grazes the tip of his ear with his teeth. “Now _that_ wasn’t part of it,” Brodeur hisses. He pushes himself back, and Sean raises his head, blinking, confused. “Still haven’t learned to listen, have you, Avery?”

“What? What’re you talking about?” Sean asks.

“That wasn’t part of our arrangement. You were to keep talking. You didn’t.” Brodeur leans back against the wall, head tilted back, his throat exposed. He laughs. “You can finish yourself off.”

“That’s not fair. I did what you-- ”

Brodeur cuts him off with a simple shake of his head. “I’m going to take care of my-- _problem_. You can do the same. And tomorrow, we’ll start over.” Brodeur pulls up his pants and fastens them.

“Wait.” Sean reaches for his arm, but Brodeur knocks his hand away.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Avery,” he says, smiling, as smug as ever.

Brodeur leaves the kitchen, and Sean slumps back against the table, feeling unfulfilled and-- vaguely-- disappointed. He slides a hand between his legs, under the pleats of his plaid schoolgirl skirt, and begins rubbing his thumb over the head of his dick.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
